


prompt fills

by Bellelaide



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:45:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: prompt fills from tumblr





	1. John Stones/Leroy Sanè

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is for the prompt “do you like that? Like being in control?” 
> 
> If this was a picture it’d be a rough sketch that I’d done on the train in a notebook with a biro pen. In other words - these prompts aren’t going to blow your mind, but are more a little exercise in different pairings and quick blurbs and just bits of fun, really. I hope u enjoy!

Since he’d got single, John Stones had been banging Leroy Sanè. 

It happened quite unexpectedly. John was at home swiping through Tinder, bored and vaguely horny, sick of the same faces continually popping up on his screen. In a moment of spontaneity he decided to fuck around with the settings, switching the age down a bit to 22 and the sexuality preference to women and men. He scrolled through now with his heart racing a bit faster. He could always just say his friends had done it as a joke if someone recognised him and sold him out, could always just deny it. Who would ever believe John Stones was gay anyway? He’d get away with it. 

What he wasn’t expecting,though, was to come across any of his teammates. 

John’s thumb froze over the picture of Leroy - a mirror selfie, fit as fuck - and he held his breath. Carefully he clicked on Leroy’s profile and read his bio. Leroy, 23. Athlete. In search of a decent pilsner. There was only one photo and John wondered whether the profile was fake for a whole ten seconds before he whispered ‘fuck it’ and swiped right. 

It was a nail biting fifteen minutes, but Leroy must’ve been online because it was a match. 

“Is this really you?” Leroy sent first, and John bit his lip. 

“Text me a football emoji if this is actually Leroy Sanè” 

Seconds later, there it was. A text message. Leroy City: the little black and white football. 

John started panicking a bit, cos he’d just been found on gay Tinder by his teammate, but then he realised Leroy was on it too and so there was an element of mutually assured destruction. John asked Leroy if he wanted to come over, Leroy said he’d be there in fifteen minutes. 

They’d been fucking ever since. 

John couldn’t quite believe his luck. He was a bang average lad from Barnsley and Leroy was this fucking model, this stunningly beautiful ethereal god that John had thought about when he was wanking plenty of times but never thought he’d actually ever get his hands on. 

And shit, Leroy was filthy. He was so fucking dirty, it’d taken John by surprise the first time. Maybe he was just a prudish Englishman but Leroy made John blush, and John didn’t think that was something he’d ever do in bed. Leroy was so hot and made John so horny and the sex was just so, so fucking good. Leroy banged like a rabbit, flexible and willing and energetic, always happy to let John do whatever he wanted. 

John had had him in some ridiculous poses, ones he knew would give the physios nightmares. He kept leaving marks all over him, not realising how rough he was being until it was over and he was breathing properly again and Leroy was lying next to him examining bruises on his biceps, across his hips. John would apply his lips to the faint purple blotches and apologise, take his time getting to mouth at Leroy’s skin, and Leroy would always smile that big smile and push John’s head away and say shut up, Stonesy. It’s fine. 

For the most part, though, John was in charge. He set the pace, controlled the tempo, he gave it to Leroy. He would never come until Leroy had first, even if that meant he was digging his nails into his palms and thinking about Otamendi. He always made sure Leroy was good before he saw to himself. 

And then when it was done and they were satisfied and they’d gotten dressed, John would show Leroy to the door and they’d shake hands like they were on the pitch, quick fist bump, and everything would go back to normal. 

*

John had been asleep for an hour when the buzzer to his flat jolted him awake. He sat up in bed and frowned, disorientated and confused. He carefully climbed out of bed in his boxers, stumbling a bit as his brain struggled to get connected to his legs in time. 

Whoever was ringing the doorbell was incessant, their finger jabbing it repeatedly in a horrible rhythm that set John’s teeth on edge. He prayed it wasn’t a fan girl or a Liverpool supporter who’d found out his address somehow and pressed the button to speak through the intercom. 

“Hello?!” 

“John? It’s Leroy,” came a slurred voice. “Leroy Sanè.” 

John exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding and shook his head. “I know who you are - are you okay?” 

“I’m a bit tipsy,” Leroy said. “Can I come up?” 

John opened the door for him and sighed, moving to flick on the light and check the time. It was 3am. 

Moments later and Leroy was walking through the door. He looked good, smelled amazing, and John was sleepy but he still felt his body light up at the sight of him. Leroy dropped his ridiculously expensive coat on the floor and smiled that infectious smile at John, his dimples popping and his eyes creasing. 

John had intended to be a bit annoyed at the fact his sleep had been so rudely disturbed but he couldn’t be mad with that face. He found himself smiling in response, closing the gap between them and taking Leroy’s face in both of his hands. They didn’t really kiss very often, it wasn’t that kind of thing, but John found himself leaning down and kissing the smile from Leroy’s mouth. He could blame it on the fact he was half asleep, he reasoned. 

Leroy kissed him back softly, tasting of something sweet and alcoholic. John wanted to ask where have you been, who have you been with, but he didn’t know if that would come across as territorial and overly keen. They were walking a tightrope and he didn’t want to upset the balance. Leroy’s hands were moving across John’s skin deftly, over his shoulder blades, down his sides, gripping his hips. John wasn’t expecting it when Leroy pulled away and said “Sit on the couch,” his eyes darker than they had been before. 

John went willingly, never taking his eyes off Leroy as he moved. He sat down and rubbed a hand through his hair, somewhat embarrassed that Leroy was seeing it like this, all fluffy and unkempt and wild. Leroy followed John, something different going on in his mind. John couldn’t quite work it out, and then - Leroy nudged John’s thighs apart with a foot, and John knew. Leroy wanted to be in charge. 

John opened his mouth to speak but Leroy frowned and shook his head, stepping closer into John’s space. He bent down fluidly and pressed a kiss to John’s mouth, moving to his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Leroy licked at one of John’s nipples and then kissed his way down John’s stomach, taking out his half hard cock and flicking his tongue at it. 

John was mesmerised, watching Leroy’s mouth open to swallow him in fascination. No matter how many times they did this, no matter how many times Leroy gave him head, John could never quite believe his luck. Never. 

The alcohol was obviously making Leroy more confident, less inhibited, because he was taking more of John than he ever had before, getting perilously close to a deep throat that had John sinking a hand into his curls and moaning gutturally. Just as Leroy was hitting his stride he stopped, leaning back and wiping at his mouth with the back of a hand. John whined and Leroy laughed, patting the outside of his knee. 

“Be patient,” Leroy said, getting up and pulling his jeans off. “Just wait.” 

And so John did, watching as Leroy pottered around with his jeans and his socks and his phone, placing them down, folding them neatly. John didn’t know if it was a German organisation thing or Leroy was trying to be a tease but either way he was getting impatient, hands itching to touch, wanting to hurry things along. Annoyed that he had Leroy in his house and he couldn’t just have his way with him. Couldn’t just pick him up and do things to him, the kind of things he used to fantasise about when he was a teenager and horny 24/7. 

“Leroy,” John said, voice still thick with sleep. “We gonna - “ 

“I was out tonight, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how cocky you are. You are so sexy, but you are so annoying too.” 

John raised his eyebrows. “Uh - “ 

“And I thought, why do I let Stonesy in charge every time? Why don’t I take the charge for once.” Leroy approached John finally, swinging his leg over John’s hips and sitting down. “Why don’t I just use this guy for my own pleasure?” As he said the words Leroy grabbed John’s right hand and brought it behind himself, to his hole. 

John pushed in, eyes never leaving Leroy’s face. When John tried to control the pace of his fingering Leroy squeezed his wrist and stopped him, moving John’s hand himself even though it was a strange angle and it made things slower and more torturous. John swallowed, licked his lips, watched Leroy perched in his lap. 

It was so quiet save for Leroy’s soft gasps, dark but for the one light John had turned on, the world silent and calm at this time in the morning, people across Manchester in their beds asleep whilst John Stones and Leroy Sanè fucked each other in secret. Pep’s apartment was only a couple of floors up. It was a heady thought. 

By the time Leroy decided to pick up John’s cock it was heavy and aching for touch. Leroy raised himself up on his knees, perching on the edge of the sofa and leaning against John’s chest for leverage, and sank down slowly. John would be forever awed by how good it felt being inside Leroy, how different and warm and tight it was compared to having sex with women. Not better, just... different. 

John tried to put his hands on Leroy’s waist but Leroy slapped him away, wanting to be independent, needing no help. He was fucking himself on John’s cock like John was nothing more than a dildo, his eyes closing and his head tilting back and his hips moving in agonisingly slow back and forth motions, just having his prostate stroked sweetly. 

John needed movement, needed a bit of rhythm, and he had to tuck his hands underneath his own thighs to keep himself from touching. John mused on the fact that he could probably sit and watch Leroy all day - whether on the pitch, in an interview, or naked and hard like this - but it was a little tricky when it was his own dick Leroy was sat on. This was a far cry from their usual routine, John lifting Leroy and fucking him mercilessly, deep and slow, hard and fast, whatever he felt like. He wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t just dreaming. 

God, Leroy had stamina, had this quiet determination to feel everything for as long as possible, and it was making John crazy. He wanted to fuck his hips up so badly but he also wanted to show that he had a bit of decorum, you know. Wanted it to at least look like he wasn’t totally whipped and needy. Still, he couldn’t help it when Leroy moaned low and rubbed at his own nipples, couldn’t help but grind up a bit and say “Do you like that? Do you like being in control?” Leroy just looked at him with those big eyes and bit his lip, a hint of that smirk that John loved. 

Time blurred into a circle of Leroy’s thighs straining and Leroy’s cock leaking against his stomach and the little noises John didn’t think Leroy knew he was making. The birds could’ve been chirping, the sun peering in at them by the time Leroy was falling forward in a sweaty pile of man and saying “Take over, you take over,” his toes pushing against the carpet as John railed him, finishing it up, putting the cherry on top of this bizarre experience. 

When it was done and they’d both come things were ever so slightly awkward again, awkward in a teammates way, awkward in a I-can’t-believe-I’ve-just-fucked-you way. Leroy put his clothes on and John pulled up his boxers and they shuffled around each other quietly. 

“I’ll get off then,” Leroy said, nodding his head at the door. “Get a taxi.” 

“Want a lift or that?” John said, hoping Leroy wouldn’t say yes. He was tired, after all. 

“No. Nah, it’s fine. See you at training?” 

“Yeah,” John smiled, opening the front door and peering around to check Pep wasn’t lurking, spidey senses alerting him to the fact that two of his players were skulking about in the building. “See you later.” 

John collapsed back into bed a few moments later, properly bone tired. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

-

John was watching Good Morning Britain the next day, tucking into a bowl of Frosties, when the door went. He opened it to find Pep in a dressing gown, feet in grandpa slippers, eyes tight with sleep. 

“Can I borrow an egg?” Pep said, getting right to the point. 

John laughed and wandered back into the flat, Pep following behind him. “Yeah, no problem. One? Two?” 

“Two,” Pep said, slippers shuffling against the hardwood floor. 

John opened the fridge and pulled out his last two eggs, thankful he hadn’t decided to make an omelette for breakfast. He turned around and froze, seeing Pep staring with a tilted head at Leroy’s jacket, still in a pile on the floor. 

“Funny. Leroy has this jacket,” Pep said, looking up at John. 

John said nothing, just held the eggs out and hoped his face wasn’t giving it all away. 

“Make sure not to wear them at the same time, that would be a mistake!” Pep said cheerily, taking the eggs and moving back towards the door. “Thanks, John. See you!” 

John breathed out an anxious sigh, picked up his Frosties, and plopped back down on the sofa. They’d have to be more careful. They really had to be more fucking careful.


	2. Dele/Eric/Winksy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we were a little too loud last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to vossi bop the whole time i wrote this. You should listen to it whilst you read it xxx

They knew better, honestly they did. They knew better than to have any kind of sex when they were at St George’s Park - the walls were so fucking thin, and it was just bad etiquette when everyone was trying to sleep, and it wasn’t great for their form on the pitch, not when they’d been up half the night trying to destroy one another. 

But still, with all that in mind, they just couldn’t quite help themselves sometimes. 

It was the first international break that all three of them had been at for ages, and Dele, Harry and Eric were thrilled at the prospect of spending a week away from the stress of the Premier League together. They didn’t really factor in the fact that no one knew about the three of them, however - people knew about Dele and Eric, sure, and it was common knowledge that the pair of them had a soft spot for Winksy, but no one knew they were actually fucking now. No one knew Harry slept in the middle of them at home and that they were just miserable without him. 

So they figured they’d be good at pretending when they were at SGP, because they managed it at Hotspur Way day in, day out. They’d be able to just hang out in a friendly way and sneak in some cuddles where they could. 

They didn’t, however, account for the fact that Harry was a bit of a hot commodity. 

The first day at the grounds Dele had to be hauled off by Eric after seeing Chilwell with his hands all over Harry, the pair of them giggling like children and Ben flirting so hard it was undignified. Dele wanted to say something but he couldn’t, he couldn’t do anything, and he was getting increasingly frustrated until Eric put an arm around him and took him to walk it off. 

Later that same day fucking Hendo was trying to show Harry how to play pool like they were in a teen romance movie, body lined up flush behind Harry’s, Harry’s cheeks going pink with it, unable to politely decline. It was Eric who couldn’t stand that, and he came over and pulled Harry away by the wrist, his hand sliding over the back of Harry’s neck, eyes boring into Jordan’s. He told Harry Gareth wanted to see him immediately. Henderson was eyeing them suspiciously. 

Harry looked up at Eric and over at Dele and frowned, confused. He mouthed what? And they said nothing, looked away. Eric let Harry go, and Harry sighed and took himself off to a quiet corner to scroll through Instagram in peace. 

It didn’t really come as much of a surprise to Harry then, when much later that night, just as he was brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed, someone started banging at the door like it was a drug raid. He rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror, spat the minty foam into the sink, and went to open the front door. 

It barely opened a crack before Dele was rolling in in a cloud of aftershave and ranting in a monologue, gesticulating wildly and speaking at Eric in a way that had Eric raising his eyebrows at Harry as he too entered the room. 

“So I said no, you don’t just put half a yoghurt back, that’s fucking rank! And you know what he said? He said I’ve been doing it since we got the call up. He’s done it since 2015!” 

Harry closed the door and looked between Dele and Eric expectantly. “Hello?” 

Dele stopped yammering and flopped down on Harry’s bed, his expression softening. “Winksy,” he said, smiling. “Come here, you.” 

Harry crossed the room and sat next to Dele on his knees, nudging his head down against Dele’s shoulder and sighing. Dele turned his body slightly and wrapped a hand around Harry’s shoulder blades, rubbing the flat of his palm down Harry’s spine, long fingers rubbing against the soft cotton of Harry’s T. 

“Fucking pissing me off all day, having to watch you with Chilly and that,” Dele muttered, tilting his chin down and seeking Harry’s mouth. “Think this’ll be harder than I thought,” he said, pressing a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Acting like we aren’t together.” 

Harry hummed into Dele’s mouth as the bed dipped beside him, Eric’s warm hand reaching under his shirt and moving softly against the small of his back. Harry pulled back slowly from Dele and turned to kiss Eric now, heart doing somersaults as it always did at the difference in their mouths, the contrast between how Dele and Eric kissed him. Harry looped one hand up around Eric’s neck and gripped Dele’s thigh with the other, a quiet moan reverberating through his chest as he felt Dele lean in and start laying kisses up the side of his exposed neck. 

“Diet nearly punched Henderson,” Dele smirked against Harry’s skin, his hand sliding up Harry’s shirt and seeking out his nipples. “Why does everyone fucking fancy you so much?” 

Harry let out a little groan against Eric’s mouth. He’d thought that after a while he’d have gotten used to having the pair of them on him at the same time, used to the overwhelming feeling of tracking four hands, two mouths, of the smell of both of them so close at the same time. They worshipped him, and Harry was sure he didn’t really deserve it, didn’t really do anything to earn it other than just sitting there and looking at them. It drove them crazy for some reason, Dele insisting that Harry needed to be fucked in front of a mirror so he could see what he was doing. Harry didn’t really get that. 

He wasn’t complaining, of course. He had had the biggest crush on both of them for the longest time, and when they’d asked him to start doing this it was like all his Christmases had come at once. He expected to just kind of be on the sidelines, mainly watching them fuck each other, but it’d been nothing of the sort. It was him they were obsessed with. 

It wasn’t becoming any less overwhelming, though. It got worse every time, like with every time they did it they got more confident, dirtier. Harry wondered if they spent time apart from him planning ways to turn him into a pile of jelly. He wondered when it would ever be someone else’s turn. Dele rolled Harry’s nipple between his fingers and Harry detached himself from Eric’s mouth, turning back to Dele and kissing him instead. 

“All the lads are annoying as fuck,” Eric murmured, tugging on Harry’s hair softly. “I’m going to ask Gareth not to call you up again, Winksy.” 

Harry pulled away from Dele to scowl at Eric and Dele laughed, leaning over Harry to kiss Eric. Harry watched their tongues move together in awe, feeling himself grow fully hard in his joggers. He wondered if they were tasting Harry’s toothpaste in each other’s mouths. 

Eventually Dele pulled back and smirked down at Harry, his eyes glinting mischievously. Harry reached out a hand and cupped Dele’s cheek, his teeth biting his bottom lip to keep something soft and lovey dovey spilling out of his mouth. God, he was so beautiful. 

“So, boy wonder, here’s what we propose.” Dele looked over Harry’s head at Eric, and then back down to Harry. “We blind fold you. Then we take turns sucking you off, timing it each time. Whoever makes you loudest and come the fastest gets to fuck you first when we get home.” 

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked between them both, searching Eric’s face - ever the mature one, because sometimes Dele was too silly to be trusted - for reassurance. 

“Only if you want to,” Eric said gently, fingers curling behind Harry’s ear. “We can also just have a cuddle and a kiss and get an early night.” 

Dele scoffed behind Harry and Eric shot him a warning glare. Harry knew his cheeks were pink and his dick was visible in his trousers, and he wanted to say yes, but it was also really risky and really filthy and he didn’t want to get in trouble. He let the battle play out in his head for all of five seconds before he was nodding and saying “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” 

Dele was grinning, cracking his knuckles, and Eric kissed Harry on the temple and whispered “Good boy.” Harry’s dick was pulsing in time with his heart beat. 

“What will we use as a blind fold?” Harry asked carefully, feeling a bit anxious when Dele and Eric both stood up, leaving him sat on the edge of the bed all alone. “Maybe we could borrow someone’s sleeping mask - “ 

“Your t shirt,” Dele said, nodding down at Harry’s official England Nike issued white t. “Pull it up over your face.” 

“Lie back,” Eric instructed. 

Harry looked at the pair of them, fit as fuck and physically huge and looking at him with these dark eyes, radiating energy and tension, and surrendered. He shifted up the bed and grabbed a pillow, settling it behind his head and lying down. Eric got a knee on the bed and kissed Harry on the lips reassuringly before lifting the hem of his t shirt up. Harry raised his arms and Eric lifted the top until it was covering his face, his arms stuck above his head. Harry couldn’t really see anything with the t shirt over his face and breathing became a little bit more difficult. It made his heart race and he tried to settle himself, letting his eyes close and his breathing regulate. 

It was silent, and Harry tried to think about set pieces and the smell of AstroTurf, familiar things, but then there were a pair of lips at his abdomen, a hot tongue swirling against his stomach, and he gasped. That was Dele, definitely Del, there was no scratchy beard. Then there were fingers in his waistband and a gentle tug, and Harry lifted his hips, blushing under his shirt as he felt his cock spring out. His trousers were fully removed and he wondered what the boys were doing now, feeling his face burning at the thought of Dele and Eric stood at the foot of the bed watching him laid out naked without a clue what was going to happen. 

“How you doing, Winksy?” Eric asked eventually, and Harry had no idea which direction the voice had come from. 

“Alright,” Harry said, voice choked. “Bit nervous to be honest.” 

“Don’t be,” Dele assured from another direction. “We’re gonna start now, ‘kay?” 

“Okay,” Harry confirmed, squirming a bit. “I’m ready.” 

Harry breathed in and out, and waited. It felt like forever, like nothing was going to happen, like maybe this was a prank, and he was going to say actually boys - can we just do the cuddling, I dunno about this, but then the bed dipped and Harry’s brain went quiet. He couldn’t tell by the weight who it was, not when he was blinded like this. Two fingers picked up his cock, a thumb and a forefinger, so he couldn’t tell still, couldn’t determine if it was Eric’s thick hand or Dele’s slender one, and then a tongue flicked against the head of his cock and he gasped. 

It was like an electric shock up his ribs, so sensitive and intimate and good. Just so good. The tongue came back again, sliding back and forth against his slit, probably picking up a bit of precome. Harry sighed and felt his stomach muscles clench, and then a hot warm mouth was around the entire head, sucking hard, sucking thirstily, and Harry couldn’t help but moan. 

As whoever it was sucked, they used their hand to start jacking him off, and the combined sensations meant he couldn’t concentrate hard enough to work out if the callouses belonged to Eric or Dele or someone else entirely, it could be fucking anyone, and he knew they wouldn’t do that to him but he still wondered, still worried. Then they ran the back of their fingers over Harry’s balls, and Harry knew it was one of them because they were the only people in the world who knew Harry liked that so much. 

He moaned freely, completely lost in sensation. The mouth around his cock sank lower, sucking wetly, noisily, and god it could have been either of them - Harry didn’t know, wasn’t sure, but it felt so good. He let his fists clutch at the bed sheets above his head, let his legs fall open a bit more, let his back arch slightly, hips thrusting deeper. There were some teeth scraping lightly against the underside of his cock and he groaned, a breathy “Fuck, yeah,” falling out. That made them suck harder, and Harry was sure they were trying to get his brain out through his dick. They could have it, he didn’t fucking need it. 

They continued sucking him steadily, hand working up and down his shaft, fingers rolling his balls carefully. Harry was moaning openly, sparks flying up and down his body. They pulled back and licked at his slit again, fast little movements, and he whined just as they swallowed him down again, sucking so hard, so tight, fucking vacuum packing his cock. 

“Just like that,” Harry breathed, feeling it building. “Gonna come.” 

And they did, they did do it just like that, and Harry’s brain felt like it was full of cotton because he couldn’t follow a single train of thought, words popping up - Dele, Eric, gonna come, Dele, Eric, Del, Dier, fuck, fuck, fuck - and he was coming, and they were swallowing it, fucking champion, championees, and Harry arched properly off the bed and his chest felt hot and flushed and he could barely breathe, the cotton sticking to his sweaty face, and he didn’t know how long that had taken but it wasn’t too long. He hadn’t taken too long at all. 

The weight at the end of the bed disappeared and Harry whined, needy, wanting one of them to kiss him or touch him or something. He knew they couldn’t because it would give the game away, but he still resented it, still wanted something - and then someone wrapped a hand around his ankle, a nice weight to anchor him through it, and he sighed and sank back against the marshmallow-like bed. 

No one spoke for a while, and Harry imagined it was so that their voices didn’t give it away. He was almost drifting off, lack of oxygen making him sleepy, and then Dele spoke. 

“You alright, Winkle?” 

Harry unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and let Dele’s voice pull him back into consciousness. “Yeah. Sleepy.” 

“Don’t go to sleep, though. Got another round.” 

“I know. Gotta get me hard again somehow, haven’t we?” 

Dele laughed like it was funny to imply getting Harry hard was difficult. “Easy. Eric’s going to give me a hand job and you can listen.” 

“Am I?” Eric asked from somewhere else. 

“Yeah, you are. Come on.” 

Harry listened as Eric sighed, listened to the sound of them kissing. He thought again about the fact they were tasting him between them, this time tasting his come, and he felt his dick twitch slightly through the sensitivity. Dele snorted again, saying “Jesus, just the sound of us kissing,” and Harry blushed furiously under his shirt. Then he heard moving fabric and the sound of someone spitting and Dele groaning. “‘M so fuckin hard, Harry. Seeing you like that. Proper hard for both of us not to say anything during that, telling you,” he said, and Harry felt his blood beginning to rush south again. 

“Hard as fuck,” Eric confirmed. Harry could hear the sound of skin on skin, slow and steady. He wondered how they looked, wondered if they were looking at him or at each other. “You look unreal, Harry.” 

Harry hummed, focussing on the noises Dele was making, the sound of Eric’s hand around his cock, wet and so fucking sexy. Harry was hard again in no time, like it was inevitable, like he hadn’t just come down one of their throats fifteen minutes earlier. Dele came and it was Harry’s name he choked out into Eric’s mouth and yeah, Harry was hard again. He was ready. 

Took them ages to get their shit together enough to start again. The bed dipped once more and Harry felt his legs be nudged further apart. Could be either of them - Dele, demanding of more space and impatient, or Eric, commanding and assertive. Harry wasn’t sure. A couple of fingers around his cock, the sudden pressure of a wet mouth around him, and it was fast and greedy, the head of his cock suddenly hitting tonsils, and he was groaning deeply and wriggling against the bedsheets and then, out of nowhere, pressure against his hole. His breath stuttered, his eyes flew open, and a finger was slipping into him easily, wet somehow, pushing in familiarly. He couldn’t work it out, couldn’t determine how thick or spindly the finger was, couldn’t even decide which finger it was - index, pinkie, he didn’t know - and he was being fingered and deepthroated at the same time, and he was saying Eric’s name, then he was saying Dele’s name, then he was just chanting “Boys - fuck, BOYS,” and it was going to be over too quickly - whoever this was they’d won, they’d totally won, Harry didn’t care, his hips canting forward, and he heard someone - Dele, he thinks it was Dele, saying softly “Shit, he’s gonna come,” and so this was Eric, Dele was going to hate that, he’d moan about this for weeks - and Harry let himself groan out Dele’s name as a returned favour as he came down Eric’s throat. 

The t shirt was pulled from his face almost instantly, and he blinked in the light as Dele’s face swam into view. He leaned down and kissed Harry for a split second before pulling back and scowling at him. “Really? You like Diet’s blowies more?” 

“Shut up, Del,” Eric scolded, moving up Harry’s body and kissing him sweetly. “That was so fucking sexy, Winksy.” 

“Think I was louder for Del, in fairness,” Harry said, sitting up on his elbows and looking down at his cock. Poor bastard looked exhausted. 

“Ha!” Shouted Dele, jabbing a finger at Eric. 

Eric rolled his eyes, palming himself a bit through his joggers. “Yeah, yeah. Who’s sucking me?” 

Harry and Dele squabbled over that for five minutes before a quick game of Rock Paper Scissors determined Dele the winner. Harry didn’t mind, though. He was tired and that meant he got to make out with Eric whilst Dele blew him, got to inhale all of Eric’s quiet moans before they even made it into the room. 

After Eric came they all clambered into Harry’s bed and chatted in a pile of tangled limbs, fingers in hair and over hearts and none of them really knowing where one of them ended and the other began. Harry drifted off to sleep with his face pressed against Eric’s chest and Dele’s thighs slung over his waist. 

 

When he woke up they were gone, of course. The three of them couldn’t be seen exiting each other’s rooms in the morning, it’d just be too ridiculous. Harry got up with a spring in his step and showered, pulled on his England training gear, applied gel to his hair meticulously. When he made it to the dining room Dele and Eric were already there, sat a table with John and Trent. 

Harry picked up a yoghurt and a banana and joined them, throwing a knowing smirk at Dele and Eric. He joined in their conversation about the Avengers, ready to defend Iron Man to his dying breath, and barely registered it when Maguire stomped up to the table, face like thunder. 

“Alright, Slab - “ 

“You three,” Harry hissed, finger pointing at Winksy, Dele and Eric, “Are fucking disgusting. I am so disgusted by you, it’s unreal - I mean really, have you no respect?” 

“Calm down, mate,” Eric said sternly. Winksy was mortified and Dele was laughing cockily as he chewed his food, arm slung over the back of his chair like he found this hilarious. 

“No. No! I’m requesting a room move. No fucking respect!” He spat, turning and walking away, still grumbling under his breath. 

The table was silent. Eventually Harry said meekly “I think we were a little too loud last night.” 

Dele rolled his eyes, getting up from the table with a clap of his hands. “Fuck the haters, Winksy. C’mon boys. Three Lions glory awaits!” 

Harry watched as Dele bounced towards the door, stopping only to whack Maguire around the back of the head. Harry got back to his banana with flaming cheeks and internally reprimanded himself: never again. Not at St George’s. Not here. 

He knew, though, that he didn’t mean that. Not even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cant remember what’s next, but I’ll pick one of the stonesford prompts I think! Or should I do a vvd number since it’s topical? Decisions, decisions...


	3. Harry Winks/Eric Dier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Dinks, Smut, “Oh my god, do that again” (with added lipgloss)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer - I have 0 clue which one of eric’s dogs is which, so. Allow me some artistic license

Without thinking too much about it, Harry found himself volunteering to take care of Eric’s dog whenever he was away. 

When Harry first suggested it, Eric had laughed and said “Good one.” Harry frowned at him, confused, and Eric said “Oh - you’re serious? Aren’t you scared of him? Aren’t you away more than I am?”

Harry scoffed, said “Of course I’m not scared of your dog!” (He was). “I’m not away more than you, necessarily. I’m just offering to be helpful. When it works out, I’ll go over and stay with him. Save you getting a sitter.” 

“Uh huh. Nothing to do with the fact you like my TV room?” 

It was true that Eric had a sensational media room, better than Harry’s, and he seemed to own every single movie known to man. Harry had the money to match this, of course he did, but it required effort and planning and time. Harry didn’t have it in him to sit still long enough. 

“Your TV room has nothing to do with it.” 

Eric sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll let you have a key. If anything goes missing, I will sue you.” 

Harry beamed at him, thrilled, and accepted Eric’s spare key gleefully. _Dele_ didn’t even have a spare key, for Christ sake. Harry felt very special. 

 

After the season was over, both Harry and Eric left the UK as soon as they could. They were exhausted and thrilled at the prospect of spending time with friends and family, time away from the spotlight of English football. They’d discussed their plans vaguely, but weren’t keeping tabs on each other - everyone just wanted a bit of space. 

When Harry saw that Eric was off in Ibiza with Jan, he did feel a little bit jealous - why hadn’t he been invited? Eric wanted space from Spurs, but not from Jan? Were they fucking? Were they in love? He did his best to put those thoughts out of his mind - it wasn’t healthy or productive. Harry had his own places to be. It wasn’t personal. 

Still, when he got home and Eric was still away, Harry found himself worrying about whether or not Eric hated him every waking minute. He considered turning up in Ibiza himself, considered phoning Dele and asking if he could come out and hang out with him in Las Vegas, and then it occurred to him - he could go and look after Eric’s dog. 

He texted Eric casually, saying ‘hey mate - I’m not doing anything until pre season and I know your still away. Want me to stay with Cisco?’ 

Eric replied twenty minutes later. ‘Happening Winksy? I appreciate it, bud, but I’m home in a couple of days anyway. My sister’s been walking and feeding him a couple of times a day. Let’s get together when I’m back tho yeh?’ 

Harry scowled. ‘He shouldn’t be on his own for two days it’s no problem I’m going over. See you when your back !!!!!’ 

He didn’t wait for Eric’s response as he threw some stuff in a travel bag and got in the car, the weight of Eric’s key tingling in his pocket. 

 

He let himself into Eric’s house and managed to disarm the security box without crying, which was a win, but then the dog was on him, jumping and making weird breathing noises that sounded like he was hungry for human flesh and Harry did cry a little bit then. After a few moments, though, the thing got bored and went sniffing off in the other direction, leaving Harry to compose himself, laughing half heartedly at his own ridiculousness. 

Harry dumped his bag in Eric’s spare bedroom and wandered through the house, peeking into the rooms and sniffing at the various candles Eric had on his many surfaces. They all smelled awful, Harry thought - he’d have to make a mental note to avoid Jo Malone, whoever the hell she was. 

He tiptoed into Eric’s bedroom, nervous incase Eric would suddenly appear, as if he’d never been away at all, was only pretending. The room was still and quiet, immaculately tidy, smelling distinctly Eric-like. Harry sat on the edge of his big bed and smoothed his hands over the black duvet cover, digging his toes into the thick carpet. He wondered, briefly, if Jan had stayed here at all - had fucked Eric in this bed - and he shot up suddenly, his skin crawling, no longer wanting to be in the room. 

Harry closed the bedroom door and returned down the stairs. He let Cisco out into the garden and made himself a cup of tea, sitting down on Eric’s patio and enjoying the faint sounds of London all around him. 

 

Harry spent the entire next day watching movies in Eric’s TV room, wrapped in a blanket despite the heat outside. He even got used to the dog - they had an agreement, Harry felt, as they stared at each other in the kitchen. Mutually assured destruction or something, Harry believed, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that if the dog wanted to rip him limb from limb then it totally could. 

He made himself a cheese toastie for dinner using some bread he found in the freezer and a block of cheese that he managed to scrape the mould off, and he decided to go out the following day, the day of Eric’s return, and stock the kitchen for him. 

He took his time wandering the aisles at Sainsbury’s, picking out things he thought Eric liked, including things he didn’t like but he _should_ \- babybels, the cheese and chive dairylee dunkers, the banana and chocolate flake muller corner yoghurts. 

He got a couple of bottles of Ribena, because that was his favourite, and even tossed some Soleros in the trolley - it was hot in London, after all. Harry chatted happily with the lady at the checkouts as she scanned all his stuff, helping him with packing when she noticed him putting a gallon of milk on top of a packet of eggs. Harry talked and talked and had to apologise to all the people behind him, grinning at the checkout lady and winking happily. “See you later, Val. Good luck with the grandson!” 

Harry unloaded everything into Eric’s kitchen, tossing the bone he’d bought for Cisco at him. It was still only two in the afternoon, and Eric wasn’t due back until eight, so he decided to draw himself a nice bath. 

Harry added three different kinds of bubble bath and sunk into the large tub with a sigh. Cisco came pottering in eventually, laying down near the bath tub and chewing away at his bone. Harry let his eyes drift closed, deeply relaxed and satisfied. 

 

He woke up to the smell of dog food and a wet tongue on his face. Cisco was licking at him and Harry screamed, shoving the dog away and groaning. He checked the time on his watch - it was now six pm - and sighed, pulling the plug on the lukewarm water. 

The dog was definitely hungry, whining at Harry expectantly as he wrapped a towel around his waist and went to get dressed. He pulled on a pair of joggers, deciding to forgo the underwear and a shirt. It was hot, after all, and Harry didn’t much like wearing clothes anyway. He lathered himself in the body butter he’d brought, taking his time with his knees and elbows. 

Next, Harry went downstairs to feed Cisco, dumping out the biscuits into his bowl messily. Harry got himself some snacks from the fridge and meandered off towards the TV room, plonking himself down on the sofa and switching on the evening news. He was scrolling on his phone with one hand, eating his dunkers with the other, when he heard the sound of the front door open and close and Cisco go skittering down the hall. 

Harry checked his watch - Eric shouldn’t be back for two hours - and frowned. Was it an intruder? Cisco wasn’t barking, and Harry definitely hadn’t left the door unlocked. He got up gingerly and crept towards the door, his heart thudding. 

“Hello?” He called uncertainly, clearing his throat and trying again. “Who’s there?” 

A female head popped around the kitchen door frame. “Oh! Jesus, you gave me a fright!” 

Harry stared at her. “Who -“ 

“I’m Daisy, Eric’s sister - you - Harry, right?” 

Harry nodded, suddenly regretting his decision not to wear a shirt. Daisy was all dressed up, her hair styled perfectly. Harry held out a hand belatedly, blushing at his awkwardness. 

“Yeah, I’m Harry. Sorry for scaring you there - I’m watching the dog, I thought Eric told -“ 

“He did, he did. He said you were looking in on him, but I didn’t expect you’d still be here. It’s entirely my fault. Look, I’m glad you’re here, actually, I’m on my way out to dinner and I haven’t the foggiest which lipstick to wear.” 

Harry watched as she moved towards the hallway mirror, rifling around in her bag and producing two different lip products. Harry didn’t have a fucking clue what colour she should pick; what one would match - he shuffled towards her, looking at the other colours she was wearing, and shrugged. 

“Maybe the light pink one? Red might be a lot, you know, since you’re wearing black.” 

Daisy considered this, holding the two tubes up to her mouth, and then she sighed and smiled. “You’re right. Thanks, Harry.” 

Harry watched as she unscrewed the lid and swirled the wand around in the tube, clear with a lightening bolt down the side. She puckered up and swept it over her mouth, shiny pink gloss that managed to tie her look together seamlessly. She saw Harry watching and she grinned. “Want to try some?” 

Harry felt himself blushing. “What? No, sorry, I was just -“ 

“It tingles on your lips,” Daisy explained. “It’s a lip plumper. Minty. It’s really fun.” 

Harry did not want to put makeup on, Jesus, but also that sounded amazing, and it looked so shiny and sparkly, and - 

“Here,” Daisy said suddenly, grabbing him by the back of the neck and holding him still. “Don’t move. Open your mouth like an O.” 

Harry did, his heart racing as she swept the wand over his lips. It began tingling on contact, just like she said it would - it was the weirdest sensation in the world, like white noise on a TV screen or popping candy on your tongue. Harry smacked his lips together and smiled at her gratefully when she was done, his face burning hot. 

“Weird, isn’t it?” Daisy said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Feels like bees on your lips. Anyway, Harry - I’m going to get off, if you’ve got it covered? My brother’s back soon anyway, isn’t he? Tell him I said hi, will you?” 

Harry nodded, uncharacteristically quiet, and watched as she patted Cisco on the head and left. Harry stared at the door for a moment, unsure if she’d come breezing back in and tell him to get out of her brother’s house, or demand to know where he’d gotten a key, or ask him why he was wandering around topless smelling of almond body butter. 

But she didn’t, and the clock kept ticking on the wall, and Harry’s lips were tingling uncontrollably. He turned his body to the right and looked in the mirror, his breath catching in his chest. His lips looked bigger, plumper, shiny and slick with rose pink gloss. He looked ridiculous, he thought, except for how he kind of suited it, and it made him look different and sultry and made him feel all kinds of sexy. 

Harry wandered back to the TV room in a daze, weirdly feeling himself half hard in his joggers just with the knowledge that he was wearing makeup - wearing makeup in Eric Dier’s house. He sat down on the couch and palmed himself lazily, content that he had an entire hour until Eric was due back - plenty enough time to sort himself out. 

He closed his eyes and let his head tilt against the back of the chair, focussing on the pressure of his fingers as he squeezed; on the tingling in his lips. He took his time with it, getting off on the fact that he was in Eric’s house, on his sofa - it was a little bit creepy, actually. Maybe a lot creepy. Maybe he should fucking not be doing this, especially if Eric had a boyfriend - and then he heard the sound of the door again, and Cisco skittering along the floor, and he froze, sitting up straight. 

Daisy must have forgotten something, he thought, desperately willing his semi to fuck off. Harry repositioned his joggers and tried to gather himself as he walked out into the hall, hands in his pockets in an attempt to hide his dick. 

“Did you forget someth -“ 

Harry froze at the sight of Eric, kneeling down on the floor and petting Cisco. He was tanned and shaggy, his hair and his beard unkempt and wild. He looked tired and relaxed, the line of his shoulders easier than it had been the last time Harry saw him. He swallowed. “Thought you were back at eight?” 

“Flight got in earlier than expected,” Eric said, getting to his feet. Didn’t think you’d be here still -“ he paused, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “What... are you wearing lipgloss?” 

Harry felt the colour drain from his face. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and raised it to his mouth quickly, utterly mortified - but Eric caught his wrist, preventing him from wiping it away, his eyes dancing with excitement. “Don’t take it off,” he said, not letting go of Harry. “Do not wipe that off. Where the fuck did you get lip gloss?!” 

Harry felt his face heat up again. “Uh - Daisy was here, not long ago - she says hi,” he tried meekly, pulling his arm out of Eric’s grasp. “She said - she put this on me.” 

Eric looked Harry up and down, then, and Harry wanted the ground to swallow him up. He should’ve just gone home - this was stupid, and any minute Jan would be walking in behind Eric and it’d be all embarrassing and awkward and - 

“You wearing lipgloss is really hot, Winksy.” 

Harry’s mouth popped open in shock and he scowled. “Where’s Jan?” He snapped, not happy with Eric mocking him like this. 

Eric frowned and moved past Harry, into the kitchen. “I dunno?” He said over his shoulder. “Why?” 

Harry stuffed his hands back in his pockets and followed him, leaning a hip against the counter. “Just thought you’d be together, that’s all, since you’re shagging or whatever.” 

Eric paused from where he was staring at the ingredients on the babybel label and looked at Harry like he was crazy. “Shagging? Me and Jan? Have you lost the plot?” 

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “No. But you did go on holiday together, so -“ 

“It was a coincidence with the organiser - Harry, I’m fairly certain Jan’s shagging Paulo.” 

“What? Paulo who?” 

“Paulo fucking Abdul, Harry, who do you think?” 

Harry frowned again, his pout accentuated by the plumping gloss. “It’s _Paula_ Abdul,” he huffed. “And how am I supposed to know that? I thought you and him -“ 

“Nah,” Eric laughed, dropping the cheese back in the fridge and shaking his head slowly. “Why the fuck does my fridge look like a twelve year old’s lunch box?” 

“Um...” 

“Alright, Winksy, I really appreciate you looking after the dog, but I just want to have a wank and get an early night. I’m proper exhausted.” 

Now that Harry knew he was single, he didn’t really want to leave. He was horny and needy, too, hadn’t seen any of the Spurs boys except Kyle for weeks. Panicking at the prospect of being sent home, he said “I was having a wank too, when you came in. We could have one together.” 

“I see that,” Eric said casually, eyes dropping to Harry’s crotch. “I’m not 14. I don’t need to have communal wanks, Harry.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish, speechless for the second time that evening. Eric looked so comfy and warm, and Harry really wanted to just starfish on top of him, and Dele had mentioned that Eric said one time when he was drunk that if he could fuck anyone in the premier league, he’d definitely fuck Winks, and Harry had never really done anything with that knowledge until now. 

He moved forward in one shaky surge and sank onto his knees, thighs bracketed by Eric’s red and white high tops. He heard Eric inhale sharply and say “What are you doing?” 

Harry looked up at him, his eyebrows raised slightly, his cheeks hot. “Del said you’d fuck me if you could fuck anyone in the premier league,” he said, encouraged by the way Eric’s eyes were darkening. “So I -“ 

“Harry, if you want to stay, you can, you don’t need to blow me,” Eric said carefully, his fingers brushing against Harry’s cheek. “You don’t need to -“ 

“I want to,” Harry said quickly, too quickly. “I really want to give you head, I’m not joking. Ask anyone. Phone Kyle right now, I kept talking about it on holiday.” 

“Oh my god,” Eric groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Harry. You can’t - I’ve just got in the fucking door and you’re stood there half hard wearing fucking lipgloss. You’ve stocked my fridge up with fucking Pepperamis and now you’re looking up at me through your eyelashes and I’m too exhausted to know if this is a bad idea right now,” he said, voice lilting up on a whine. “You can’t just do all this.” 

“Do you not want me to?” Harry asked in a sad voice, the shame of rejection creeping in. “Say no and I’ll go.” 

Eric sighed, rubbed at his face. He looked down at Harry and blinked slowly, fighting with himself in his head. “I think we’ll both regret this.” 

“But?” 

“But... Fine. I want you to. I’d love you to. Only if you want, Harry, only if you’re su-“

“I’m sure,” Harry said eagerly, shuffling forward and pulling Eric’s black trousers down, over his thighs and knees and calves. Harry nosed at the line of his dick, satisfied that it was hardening up quickly, blood rushing to it with none of the fatigue Eric otherwise was displaying. 

Harry pulled on the waistband of Eric’s Calvin’s gleefully, mouth flooding with saliva at the bob of his dick - hard and heavy, pink and blushing, surrounded by the lightest crop of hair. He must’ve shaved at the start of his holiday and now it was growing back in, prickly and blonde. Harry absolutely loved men, he mused, as he picked up Eric’s dick and sucked the tip into his mouth. 

Eric’s breath hitched, but then he cried out, pushing Harry’s head back unceremoniously. “Fuck!” He hissed, his chest heaving. 

“Shit! Did I hurt you?!” 

“Why does it - it’s tingling,” Eric said, rolling his foreskin between his fingers. “What the fuck?” 

“It’s the gloss,” Harry said. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s lip plumping gloss.” 

Eric looked between Harry’s mouth and his dick in wonder, and Harry held his breath as he waited for Eric to call it off, to run away and never speak to Harry again. “Oh my god,” Eric breathed, bumping his dick against Harry’s lips. “Do that again.” 

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He sank all the way down, coating Eric’s dick in what was left of the pink gloss. It made his gums tingle and he could only imagine how it was making Eric’s dick feel - it must’ve been completely over stimulating, entirely alien. Eric took a handful of Harry’s hair and began working his hips back and forward slowly, fucking his throat with tight groans, voice raspy from the air conditioning and alcohol and excess of his holiday. 

“Harry,” Eric moaned, his finger nails scraping at Harry’s scalp. “Babe. Babe. _Baby._ Slow down. Yeah, oh my god. Harry. You gotta breathe.” 

Harry popped off irritatedly. “I know what I’m doing!” He exclaimed, glaring up at Eric. “Stop telling me how to do my job.” 

“Dunno if it’s turning me on that you’ve done this before or making me angry,” Eric said, thumb swiping against Harry’s chin.

Harry preened, because he couldn’t not, and went at it again. He knew Eric was close before Eric even alerted him; felt him gripping Harry’s hair tighter, heard the sounds he was making in his throat. Harry felt the first bursts of hot come hit his throat and he palmed himself through his joggers as Eric came, Harry’s name on his tongue breathlessly, his knees shaking. 

“Fucking hell,” Eric said, holding onto the counter for support. “Harry. Jesus, baby.” 

Harry pressed his face to Eric’s thigh for a moment, not wanting Eric to see how big he was grinning or how blotchy his cheeks probably were. Eric patted at his head and then after a moment hauled him up, pulling Harry into his chest and holding him there. His lips were tingling but it was for a different reason, now - nothing to do with lip gloss. 

Harry didn’t realise he was rutting against Eric’s hips until Eric put a hand between them and touched Harry’s dick tenderly. “You’re so fucking hard,” he said breathily, and Harry whimpered. “Let me take care of you.” 

“You’re too tired,” Harry started, but Eric clucked his tongue and shook his head. 

“Shut up,” he said fondly, bending down and pulling Harry’s joggers off in one quick motion. Eric put his hands under Harry’s armpits and lifted him easily onto the counter, nudging his thighs apart and stepping into the space. 

“Not very hygienic,” Harry squeaked, but Eric ignored him, leaning in and kissing him on the mouth. 

Eric spat on his own hand and wrapped his fist around Harry’s dick, moving his hand slow and tight in time to the pace of his tongue in Harry’s mouth. Harry squirmed against the counter, hands behind him for leverage, chest straining forward for reach Eric’s. He sighed against Eric’s mouth as he moved his thumb against Harry’s tip, he bit down on Eric’s lip when he stopped moving like he had a hundred years to do this and finally started working up a rhythm, finally started getting Harry off. 

Eventually it began to feel so good that Harry couldn’t concentrate on kissing anymore, and Eric took to sucking bruises into his neck and his collar bones, big purple things that Harry would have to wear more makeup to hide. 

“Dele was right, Winks. I do think about fucking you. Often. You are so, ridiculously fucking fuckable,” Eric breathed, catching Harry’s earlobe between his teeth. “I’m not convinced this isn’t a dream.” 

“You can fuck me,” Harry said, begged. “Please. I’d really like that. We should do that. I want you to just, like, fucking dominate me,” he rambled, his head tilting onto Eric’s shoulder. “I feel so good right now.” 

“Come, baby,” Eric said, voice strained with the effort he was employing to move his arm. 

Harry did, biting down on Eric’s jumper and coming all over Eric’s fist and his own stomach. Eric kissed Harry one more time, lips lingering for a beat too long, and then he was moving off, removing his jumper and washing his hands at the sink. 

Harry climbed down and used a wad of kitchen roll to clean his chest, suddenly tired after all that. He tried to stifle a yawn, tried not to think too much about how he was going to drive home - maybe he could sleep in his car, he thought. 

He was pulling on his joggers when Eric said “Do you want to stay? Your stuff’s here anyway.” 

Harry blinked at Eric sleepily, a smile breaking out on his face. “I could do. If you insist.” 

Eric smiled, eyes crinkling, and shook his head. “Great. Let’s have some packed lunch and get off to bed, shall we.” 

“It’s not packed lunch food!” Harry exclaimed, taking out some glasses for the Ribena. “It’s a delicacy!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eric laughed, grabbing two plates. “How was Clay, by the way?” 

Harry froze. Clay? Then who was Cisco? He had no fucking idea, Jesus Christ. It didn’t matter, though - Eric was back, and Harry wouldn’t need to dog sit again. Not now, anyway. 

Now he had an even better excuse to use Eric’s TV room.


	4. Harry Winks/Eric Dier

-Harry- 

Harry’d been planning it for months. 

Since October, to be exact. He was out on Halloween, dressed as Steve from Stranger Things and three sheets to the wind. Eric, who was not dressed up (“I don’t do Halloween, baby,”) had disappeared off to the toilet when Dele sidled up, leaning in close to Winksy’s ear. 

“You ever fuck him?” He asked, like it was any of his business. “You ever give it to Diet?” 

Harry scowled. He had not ‘given it to Diet’, no, hadn’t even considered it. Their sex life was great as it was, fucking perfect, actually - Eric fucked Harry, and took care of him, and made him come like he had a degree in it, and Harry leaned into the whole baby thing, the bottom thing, the soft thing. He hadn’t even considered a universe in which he would be the one to do Eric. 

“No,” he told Dele, doing his best not to let Dele see how the question had irked him. “I don’t.” 

“Why not?” Dele laughed, eyes glinting mischievously. “Not like your cock ain’t big enough.” 

“Fuck off,” Harry snapped. 

“Don’t you miss it? Putting it in things? God, Winksy. You _are_ a little twink.” 

Harry sat up straight and crossed his arms, the alcohol fuelling his annoyance. “I could fuck him if I wanted to. But it’s better receiving it, actually, so.” 

“Okay, Winks, if you‘re sure,” Dele said, moving back as he saw Eric returning. “Whatever you say.” 

“What’s wrong?” Eric asked as he slid back into the booth, hand splaying across Harry’s lower back. “You look pissed off.” 

“It’s nothing,” Harry said shortly, shrugging Eric’s hand away. “I’m going to dance.” 

** 

Later that night, as he lay in Eric’s bed on his back with his legs open, Eric’s dick sliding wetly between his cheeks as he looked down in awe, Harry asked him. 

“Why don’t I ever fuck you?” He said, drawing Eric’s eyes to his face. “Why’s it always you doing me?” 

“Because you’re my gorgeous little princess,” Eric said matter of factly, leaning down and kissing Harry’s collar bone. “And you take it so good.” 

“Well, yeah,” Harry grumbled. “But like, shouldn’t we - shouldn’t I - oh, fuck,” he trailed off as Eric slid into him. “Oh, _fuck_.” 

“Yeah,” Eric sighed happily. “Yeah, that’s it.” 

Harry forgot his point, then, because he was having some pretty nice sex. But the issue did not evade him completely. 

** 

So he planned to take Eric out on their first valentine’s day, wine him, dine him, and then fuck him into oblivion. He ran his plans by Dele - who laughed and clapped his hands gleefully - and booked them a table at the most exclusive restaurant in The Shard. 

Harry did his best not to be babyish from the second he picked Eric up, but it was hard when Eric was thumbing at the skin behind his ear and whispering how good he looked against his neck. 

It’d been a long winter season, and they were both pretty exhausted - but Eric shone on that night, enticing and sparkling and clever. Harry was in love with him, undeniably so. 

He pulled Eric’s chair out for him, earning a fond chuckle, and ordered for the pair of them before Eric even had the chance to request a Riesling sample. He hooked his ankle around Eric’s under the table as they cut into their steak - soft as butter, bleeding slightly, melt in the mouth - and said “I’m going to fuck you tonight.” 

Eric choked on a new potato and looked at Harry with raised brows. “You - you’re what?” 

“Gonna fuck you,” Harry said around a mouthful of steak. “Gonna make you come on my dick.” 

Harry scrutinised Eric’s face as he stared at his plate, his cheeks turning pink. “Winksy... are you sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Harry said, going for confident even though he was shitting himself. “And you’re going to like it.” 

Harry paid the bill - what did it matter, really, who paid when they earned what they did - and they drove through the rainy London night in silent anticipation. 

Harry was on Eric as soon as they were in the door, pressing up on tiptoes and licking into his mouth, hot and tasting like red wine. Harry pushed him onto his bed and ordered him to take his clothes off, the command funny in his mouth, threatening to make him laugh. Eric was looking at him with soft eyes - amused, almost - and Harry hated it, wanted him to be taking this seriously. 

He left Eric to undress and went downstairs to his kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Dom Pérignon and carrying it back up. Eric was lying there, naked and casual, arms propped behind his head, dick standing up as if to say ‘Hi, Harry!’ 

Harry stood at the end of the bed and pulled the metal casing off the cork of the bottle, eyes on Eric’s. He popped the cork expertly - he could do that, he was no fucking _twink_ \- and brought it to his lips, taking a hearty swig. 

“We celebrating?” Eric asked, grinning. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “First valentine’s together. Been on good form lately, both of us. And I’m fucking you, so.” 

“Oh.” 

Harry climbed up onto the bed again, kneeing his way up the mattress, and without warning tipped the champagne onto Eric’s abs. 

“Fuck - Harry!” Eric gasped, muscles tensing under the liquid. “Your bed sheets!” 

“Fuck it,” Harry muttered, watching the bubbles slide into Eric’s belly button, along his snail trail. “They can be washed.” 

Harry dipped down and licked at the champagne, sucking it off Eric’s abs into his mouth, his tongue doing kitten licks into his belly button. 

“The lube’s behind you,” Harry said to Eric, nodding his head towards the bedside table. 

Eric reached over and grabbed it, handing it to Harry whilst simultaneously taking the champagne out of his hand. He took his own swig of it, Harry hypnotised by the bob of his throat, and then set it on the bedside table, raising his eyebrows at Harry. 

“Oh - Yeah,” Harry said, uncapping the lube and snapping into action. “Right. Legs open, please.” 

Eric let his thighs fall apart, and Harry’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know how the fuck to do this, honestly - he poured the lube onto his fingers and then held his breath as he pushed up against Eric’s hole, heart jackhammering, telling himself it was just like fingering a vagina. 

“Aren’t you gonna touch it first?” Eric asked, looking down at Harry like he was mad. 

“Oh,” Harry looked at Eric’s dick. “Right. Yeah,” he mumbled, grabbing it with his free hand and working his fist over it a couple of times, his attention on it weak at best. “You ready?” 

Eric smiled and shrugged. “If you are.” 

“Right,” Harry said determinedly, holding his breath and sliding his finger inside. 

It was hot and tight in there, and Harry marvelled at how he could feel even the movement of Eric’s feet through the muscles in his backside. Harry pushed in further, down to the knuckle, and then pulled out again, holding up his shiny finger in front of his face and staring at it in awe. 

“Winksy?” Eric said, looking a bit less composed. “What are you doing, mate?” 

“Sorry,” Harry said, annoyed that his cheeks were heating up. He was meant to be in control. “Right. You like that?” 

“I mean, yeah, I like you inside me,” Eric said. “But you’ve gotta like... do something.” 

Harry frowned and put his finger back in, moving it around, swirling a little. Usually Eric had him moaning freely by the time the first finger was in. Maybe they hadn’t done enough foreplay, or maybe Eric was just a different kind of bottom to Harry. Either way, Eric lay still as Harry rolled his index finger around inside him, only sign he was being fingered the shallow rise and fall of his chest. 

Harry slipped in a second, scanning Eric’s face for a sign he was enjoying this. He was blinking slowly, the most infuriating little soft smile on his mouth. Harry started pumping his fingers harder, wanting to make Eric come undone - but all that did was make Eric hiss, sitting up quickly and grabbing Harry’s hand by the wrist. 

“Slow down,” Eric said, kissing Harry’s temple. “Take it easy.” 

“How about - you finger yourself,” Harry said suddenly, getting up off the bed. “Whilst I get naked and get the johnny on.” 

He turned away from Eric, then, unbuttoning his shirt and internally screaming at himself. Get it together, Winks! You can fucking do this! You can _do him!_

Harry turned back to Eric when he was undressed and nearly blew his load. Eric was lying there, three fingers in himself, working them slowly and carefully. Harry bit his lip and tried not to whine - that should be him, a small voice in his head said. He should be the one getting fingered by Eric. 

He shook his head and reached for a condom. He could barely get the thing open, and when he did he could hardly get it on. It’d just been so long, and he was struggling with it so much, and he was beginning to get frustrated - could feel tears prickling at his eyes - when Eric sat forward again, putting his hand on Harry’s cheek. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he said reassuringly. “You got this. You’re so fucking sexy.” 

Harry didn’t feel sexy. So far he’d failed to do anything right, it felt like - and then Eric was taking the condom out of his hands and rolling it down onto Harry’s dick expertly, as if it were easy. 

“Bend over,” Harry said, refusing to let himself slide into the ever threatening soft baby headspace he felt when Eric took care of him. “I want to fuck you from behind.” 

“Okay, baby,” Eric said, getting on all fours. “Fuck me, Winksy.” 

Harry took a deep breath and climbed up beside Eric. He grabbed handfuls of his ass and squeezed, nosing the tip of his dick against Eric’s hole. Eric shuddered, letting his head fall between his shoulders, and then Harry was pushing in. 

It was all too much. The feel of him around Harry - clenching, hot, tight, wet, all of the above - Harry was going to fucking come and he hadn’t even moved yet. He pressed his chest against Eric’s back, his forehead to his spine, and took a ragged breath. 

“How’s it feel, Harry?” Eric said, his shoulders shifting under Harry’s body. “You okay?” 

“‘M good,” Harry said, but it sounded pathetic. “You feel so good.” 

“You can move,” Eric said encouragingly. “Go on.” 

So he did, pulling his hips out and snapping them back in. It felt so good, so fucking good on his dick, and he bit down on Eric’s skin, wondering how the fuck Eric did this without thinking of himself - how he did this and still managed to make it good for Harry. All Harry wanted to do was fuck into Eric and come, he couldn’t find the strength to go slow or to find Eric’s prostate or to get a hand on Eric’s dick. 

“Is it good?” He panted, clutching Eric’s side. “Are you close?” 

“What? It’s only been thirty seconds,” Eric said, voice entirely unaffected. “Why, are you?” 

“No,” Harry lied, sweat beading on his forehead as he forced himself to slow down. “I’m not.” 

“You can come, Harry,” Eric said gently. “Don’t worry about me, alright?” 

“What? Is it shit?” Harry asked, scowling. “What do you mean?” 

Harry shifted his hips, trying to make it better for Eric but only serving to make it better for himself. His eyes rolled when Eric tensed at the change in angle, and he had to swallow a filthy moan. 

“Eric,” Harry whined, unable to stop himself. “Bro.” 

“Bro?” Eric laughed, the laughter rippling through his body, rolling over Harry’s cock. “You fuck me once and this is a no homo thing?” 

“Stop fucking laughing,” Harry said, bringing up his hand and then slapping it down on Eric’s ass, hard and stinging. 

Eric looked over his shoulder crossly, frowning. “Don’t do that,” he warned, and Harry’s face went bright red. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Uh - Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Eric said, laying down so that his cheek was pressed to the sheet. “Come on, Harry, fuck me. Make me come. Make me come on your big cock. Think I haven’t dreamed of this? You railing me like this? Think I haven’t -“ 

Harry came, spilling into the condom, letting out a squeak as he stilled in Eric’s body. As the aftershocks rolled over him, shame took place instead of pleasure. Harry pulled out and rolled Eric over, barely able to look at his face - but then he saw that Eric was lagging, his dick softening, and he was going to burst into tears. 

“Oh,” he said, unable to look Eric in the eyes. “You don’t want - oh.” 

“I can get it up,” Eric said, wrapping a hand around himself. “I can always get it up for you. It was just that - it was a bit uncomfy there, just with the -“ 

“Why didn’t you say so?!” 

“No, not bad! Just - Harry, I liked that, and it’s so fucking sexy to me that you just came inside me, and - look, I’m hard again,” he said, presenting his erection. “Baby, come here.” 

“No,” Harry said, voice breaking. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sorry,” he murmured, getting up and ignoring Eric’s calls. He locked himself in the bathroom, closing the toilet lid and crying for a few minutes, utterly distraught. 

“Harry?” Eric was at the door, knocking on it gently. “Darling?” 

Harry wiped his eyes and threw the condom in the bathroom bin. He took a breath and opened the door, squeezing past Eric’s big frame. 

“I’m done for the night,” Harry said, getting into bed and wincing at the champagne sticky sheets. “Just gonna hit the hay.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Eric sighed, and it was so soft Harry wanted to scream. He didn’t want to be baby tonight, he didn’t want to be gentle - and yet that was what he was getting, Eric sliding into bed behind him, kissing his shoulder blades and wrapping a hand around his stomach. “Harry, please. Don’t end the night like this.” 

“I’m fucking shit in bed,” he heard himself saying in a small voice, a tear leaking out of his eye. “I understand if you want to dump me.” 

Eric sat up and pushed Harry onto his back, his face incredulous. “Harry - What? Shit in bed? Dump you? I don’t even - I don’t even know where to start.” 

Eric was soft again, and Harry could hardly stand looking at him. “Please can we just go to sleep,” Harry said, covering his face with his hands. 

“Harry... I really think we should -“ 

“Please,” Harry insisted. “Eric, please.” 

Eric sighed defeatedly and kissed Harry’s cheek. “Okay. Alright.” 

Harry rolled over again, curling up in a ball. Eric got out of bed and spent some time in the bathroom, and Harry didn’t remember him getting back into bed before he fell asleep. 

** 

“Del? It’s Winks.”

“I know who it is, I have caller ID.” 

“I fucked him.” 

“Oh my god, yes Harry! How was it?” 

“It was so bad, Del. I fucking blew it.” 

“Are you crying?” 

“Yes. It was so, so bad. He hated it!” 

“He wouldn’t have hated it -“ 

“He was soft! He didn’t even come!” 

“Shit.” 

“He’s probably going to finish with me now. Oh Dele, why did you tell me to do this? Why?!” 

“Fuck off! I didn’t tell you to do anything. I doubt he’s going to break up with you -“ 

“I haven’t heard from him all morning. He _always_ texts me, Dele. Always!” 

“Go and speak to him, Harry, you idiot. Just talk. It won’t be as bad as you think.” 

“I hate my life.” 

“Go! And speak to him! Now!” 

“Fine. But if I’m single in an hour, I’m blaming you!” 

 

-Eric- 

 

“Winksy’s going to try and top me. I opened his laptop last night and the last thing he’d googled was ‘how to top someone bigger than me’.” 

Dele laughed. “I know he is.” 

“How do you know that?” Eric said, frowning at him. “You been helping him? You couldn’t top a cake.” 

“Fuck off. I suggested it, actually. Back at Halloween. I asked him if he’d ever fucked you.” 

“Is that what that was? Oh for fucks sake, Del, I wish you wouldn’t get involved.” 

“Piss off,” Dele scoffed. “Don’t you want to get shagged, Diet?” 

“I’m perfectly satisfied with the current arrangement, thanks very much. What the fuck did you say to him?” 

“Told him he was such a little twink or something.” 

“Dele! You know how sensitive he gets about his masculinity!” 

“I was being funny!” Dele said, rolling his eyes. “Bloody hell. You two need to learn to take a joke.” 

** 

Eric wasn’t nervous about bottoming - he’d done it once before, and it’d been fine. It was the thought of _Harry_ topping that made him anxious - Harry was a born sub, built for it with those eyes and his easy personality and his compact little body. But still, if he wanted to try it - Eric would let him. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Harry. 

Their dinner at the shard was tense - Eric could feel Harry’s nerves, his usual calm giggliness replaced by an anxious demeanour, the line of his shoulders too straight, too uptight. Eric nearly choked on his steak when Harry said “Gonna fuck you. Gonna make you come on my dick.” 

Eric couldn’t look at him for fear of bursting out laughing - talk like that was so preposterous coming from Harry - and said “Winksy... are you sure?” 

Harry assured Eric that he was, and he paid the bill hurriedly, not even letting Eric consider a dessert. The drive home was quiet and the second they were in the door Harry was on Eric’s mouth, kissing him so furiously their teeth clacked, pressing up onto his tiptoes and trying so hard to dominate the situation that it felt staccato and forced. Eric willed himself to relax and let Harry take the lead, ignoring his desire to lift him up and fuck him against the wall. 

Harry pushed Eric onto the bed forcefully, barking at him to undress. Eric wanted to laugh, not because it was funny but because it was so out of character, and he couldn’t help but smile fondly at him as he left the room. He was clearly so nervous, bless him, hands shaking a little bit, cheeks all pink, and Eric wanted to kiss his tummy and suck his dick and take him apart slowly and carefully. 

When Harry returned Eric was naked and lounging against the pillows, and he cocked a brow at the bottle of champagne in Harry’s hand. There was really no need for them to cork a Dom Pérignon right now - really, a Cliquot or even a Prosecco would be fine - but he didn’t want to rain on Harry’s parade, so instead he asked “We celebrating?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said as he took a swig. “First valentine’s together. Been on good form lately, both of us. And I’m fucking you, so.” 

“Oh.” 

Harry climbed up the bed then and, without a word of warning, tipped the bottle onto Eric’s stomach. 

“Fuck - Harry!” He gasped, the liquid cold and uncomfortable. “Your bed sheets!” 

“Fuck it,” Harry mumbled. “They can be washed.” 

Eric tried to ignore the voice in his head screaming that this was ridiculously wasteful and sighed as Harry licked at his stomach, slurping champagne out of his belly button which was actually pretty disgusting. 

“The lube’s behind you,” Harry said, nodding at it. 

Eric grabbed it and handed it to Harry, taking the champagne from him before he got any more ideas - I mean really, did Harry think he was Dan fucking Bilzerian? - and put it down after taking a swig himself. 

Harry coated his fingers and then stared at them, eyes raking over Eric’s body. Eric raised his eyebrows at him, waiting - and Harry jumped into action, telling him to open his legs. Eric let his thighs fall apart, and he’d have been a bit embarrassed if this wasn’t Harry, who he’d eaten out until he cried, fucked on every piece of furniture in this house, held whilst he threw up after that nasty stomach flu in January. 

Harry’s face paled when Eric opened his legs, and he could hardly believe it when Harry moved to start fingering him right away. He hadn’t even touched Eric’s dick once, and Eric thought he knew better the importance of foreplay. 

“Aren’t you gonna touch it first?” 

“Oh,” Harry said, embarrassed. “Yeah.” He picked Eric’s dick up but he might as well not have bothered - he was barely doing anything to it, too fixated on getting inside, on doing the actual job of topping. 

“Are you ready?” Harry asked, and Eric wanted to sigh. He wasn’t ready, Jesus fuck, but he didn’t know what else to do. 

“If you are.” 

Harry bit his lip and pushed into Eric. Eric waited for him to find the prostate, to make this sexy - suck his dick maybe - but then Harry was pulling out again, holding his shiny finger up in front of his face and gawping at it. 

“Winksy? What are you doing, mate?” 

Harry went bright red, and Eric gripped the sheets. “Sorry. Right. You like that?” 

Eric felt like snapping ‘do I like _what?’_ But he kept his cool. “I mean, yeah, I like you inside me. But you’ve gotta like... do something.” 

Harry frowned, and he looked fucking adorable. Then he was fingering Eric again, finger moving in and out, feeling vaguely like nothing. He put in a second, looking at Eric exasperatedly like he thought Eric should be writhing around on the bed, leaking against his own stomach. Eric smiled again, trying his best not to laugh. 

Harry scowled then and started pumping his fingers harder - painfully so, his finger banging against something unceremoniously. Eric hissed in pain, grabbing Harry’s wrist and stopping him. 

“Slow down,” he begged, kissing Harry’s sweaty temple. “Take it easy.” 

“How about - you finger yourself,” Harry said suddenly, climbing off the bed. “Whilst I get naked and get the johnny on.” 

It wasn’t sexy at all, Eric thought, being left to prep yourself like this, but he lay back and lubed up his own fingers anyway. Harry was talking to himself, Eric could hear him hissing “Get it together!” Under his breath, and he wondered at what point he should call the whole thing off himself. 

Harry’s face fell when he turned around at last and saw Eric fingering himself. He was sure he saw something like jealousy flash over Harry’s face - some bottom instinct in him furious that Eric’s fingers were not in _his_ arse - but then he gave himself a shake and turned his attention to the condom. 

He struggled to open it, and when he did he could hardly get the thing on. It kept popping off his dick, and Eric saw his eyes were welling up. He sat forward again, his hand resting on Harry’s cheek. 

“You’re okay, baby,” he said, using his Harry voice. “You got this. You’re so fucking sexy.” 

He took the condom from Harry’s hands and rolled it onto him lovingly, wanting so badly to put a kiss to the tip of it but not wanting to piss Harry off. 

“Bend over,” Harry choked out, not looking at Eric’s face. “I want to fuck you from behind.” 

Eric did as he was told, letting his thighs rest some distance apart, his back arched. He didn’t see how this could be sexy for Harry - Eric was big and hairy and inelegant - but then Harry was there, pushing his dick against Eric’s hole, his hands gripping his behind painfully. 

Harry slid in and Eric held still as he got used to the sensation, his torso flopping onto Eric’s back, his breathing ragged. Eric could feel Harry’s dick twitching inside him, and his own dick hung limply, sad from lack of contact. 

“How’s it feel, Harry?” Eric asked after a couple of seconds. “You okay?” 

Harry assured him in the smallest voice possible that he was okay, and that Eric felt good. Eric told him to move, and he did, ridiculous little movements that were more Harry rutting the tip of dick up against Eric’s inner muscles than anything resembling a proper fuck. He was biting down on Eric’s shoulder blades, and Eric could fucking feel him throbbing inside him, and he knew that this wasn’t going to last long. 

“Is it good?” Harry panted. “Are you close?” 

“What? It’s only been thirty seconds,” Eric said. “Why, are you?” 

“No,” Harry said, clearly lying. “I’m not.” 

Eric really, really wanted this to be over. “You can come, Harry,” he said carefully. “Don’t worry about me, alright?” 

“What, is it shit?” Harry snapped. “What do you mean?” 

Harry moved his hips, his dick bumping up against something else, and Eric shifted with it, causing Harry to moan and grip Eric tight enough to bruise. 

“Eric,” Harry whined, his voice filthy. “Bro.” 

Eric snorted. “Bro?” He said, unable to stop himself from shuddering out a laugh. “You fuck me once and this is a no homo thing?” 

He was still chuckling when Harry slapped him suddenly and without warning - hard and ringing, and entirely in the wrong place for a spank, high enough that it could cause harm rather than... whatever Harry was going for. Eric turned around and glared at him. 

“Don’t do that.” 

Harry looked mortified, and Eric was really losing any arousal he had. Harry apologised as Eric lay down on his forearms, trying to shift the angle, help Harry out a bit. He just needed a bit of encouragement, Eric decided, starting to run his mouth, telling Harry he wanted to be fucked, that he’d dreamed of this, that Harry was so sexy - and then Harry was coming, a high pitched moan and the stilling of his hips alerting Eric to the fact that this was all over. 

Eric rolled over when Harry pulled out, ready to tell him what a good boy he was and maybe try and get a blow job in, when Harry spotted his softening dick and his face fell. 

“Oh,” he said, voice wavering. “You don’t want - oh.” 

Eric felt bad, then. “I can get it up,” he said quickly, taking himself in his hand. “I can always get it up for you, it’s just that that was a bit uncomfy there, with the -“ 

“Why didn’t you say?!” Harry demanded, eyes watering. God, he was impossibly cute. 

“No, not bad! Just - Harry, I liked that, and it’s so fucking sexy to me that you just came inside me, and - look, I’m hard again,” he said, showing his now hard dick. “Baby, come here.” 

But he didn’t, instead retreating to the bathroom, his expression breaking Eric’s heart. Eric sighed and flopped onto the bed, hissing the word ‘fuck’ under his breath. Jesus, what a disaster - it hadn’t even been that bad, honestly, it was Harry’s nerves that had set the whole thing on edge. 

Eric climbed off the bed and went to the bathroom door, knocking and calling for Harry to open up. When he did his face was blotchy and his eyelashes wet, and Eric wanted to wrap him in his arms so fucking badly, but he knew it wasn’t what Harry wanted. 

“I’m done for the night,” Harry said stoically, getting into bed. “Just gonna hit the hay.” 

“Oh Harry,” Eric breathed, getting into bed behind him, kissing his soft skin and pulling him close. “Harry, please. Don’t end the night like this.” 

“I’m fucking shit in bed,” Harry said, and Eric froze. “I understand if you want to dump me.” 

Eric sat up, his heart thumping. He turned Harry over and stared at him, brain exploding with words - shit in bed? Eric had never, not ever, had sex like the sex he had with Harry. Harry was _sick_ in bed, that wasn’t even up for debate - he was sexy and slutty, he was soft and baby, he took dick like it was his job, he sucked cock like he lived for it. He rode it better than anyone Eric had ever known - Eric had blown his load within twenty seconds the first time Harry got on top of him and started bouncing up and down, the sight of his toned stomach and hard, dripping dick too much for Eric to believe. There was nothing about Harry that was shit in bed, and Eric couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Harry - What? Shit in bed? Dump you? I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Please can we just go to sleep,” Harry begged, hiding his face. Eric wanted to cry. 

He tried again, but Harry refused, and Eric knew he had to let it go for the night. Anything he said would fall on deaf ears, anyway. Harry rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head, and Eric sat there dumbly for a few minutes before going to the bathroom to have a quick wank and wonder how this had gone so badly. 

** 

When he woke up, Harry wasn’t there. Eric didn’t want to text or phone him, didn’t want to crowd him so soon, so he phoned Dele instead, needing badly to talk about this with someone. 

“Del? It’s Eric.” 

“Fucking hell, you’re both - _I know it’s you, Eric._ ” 

“So Harry topped last night. And Del, it was nice, actually. But he hated it, and he’s really upset, and he’s gone out and I don’t know what to do.” 

“He phoned me earlier.” 

“Did he? What did he say? Where is he?” 

“I don’t know where he is. He thinks you want to break up with him.” 

“Fuck sake,” Eric groaned. “Why would I - fucking fuck. What do I do?” 

“Talk to him, you big idiot,” Dele said. “Just bloody tell him you enjoyed it. Tell him he’s a bottom and you won’t be doing that again. I don’t know what he wants to hear, but tell him it.” 

“Right,” Eric said, scratching at his head. “I’ll speak to him. I’ll - oh hold on,” Eric said, the sound of the front door interrupting him. “I think he’s back.” 

“I hate you both, by the way,” Dele said. “For involving me in this. I want nothing to do with your sex life, you know. This is actually kind of unfair, seeing as how -“ 

Eric hung up on him. He hung up, pulled on some boxers, and headed off down the hall, his heart thumping. He found Harry in the kitchen drinking a glass of milk, and his heart melted when Harry smiled at him, milk dribbling down his chin awkwardly. 

“Fuck,” Harry said, wiping his mouth. “Oops. Morning.” 

“Morning,” Eric said, beaming at him. “Come here.” 

“Where are we going?” Harry said, taking Eric’s hand. “We need to talk -“ 

“Yeah, we do,” Eric said, kissing Harry’s mouth. But first, we’re going to do that again. And we’re going to get it right this time, no nerves, no fucking... no Dele’s voice in our heads. Alright?” 

Harry blinked up at him. “I think I love you,” he blurted, and Eric’s eyes widened. “Well - you know - fuck, was that too much?” Harry babbled, face pinking. 

Eric kissed him, backing him against the wall, feeling like he’d suffocate if he didn’t get him naked in the next ten seconds. “I love you too, Winksy,” he said, looking into Harry’s eyes. “Let’s go and do some topping.” 

“Eric - can you just... could you just fuck me? I think I really, I just prefer, you know. Receiving it, I think.” 

Eric grinned at him. “I can definitely do that, baby.”


End file.
